To Speak Into Existence
by trufflemores
Summary: Iris and Barry's wedding may not have gone according to plan the first two times, but you know what they say: third time's the charm.


**Author's Notes** : Hello, everybody! I haven't updated my ffnet page in a while, so these fics are long overdue. I hope you enjoy them! (If you want to stay up to date with my stories, I always upload them to AO3 first.)

"You're really pulling out the stops on this one. Did I forget our anniversary?"

Smiling to himself, Barry leads Iris carefully across the grass and assures, "No, you didn't."

"Okaaay, then why am I blindfolded?" One hand resting comfortably on Barry's arm, Iris tilts her head thoughtfully and adds, "Is it someone's birthday?" Then: "Wait, no, stupid question, why would _I_ be blindfolded?"

Gently pulling her to a halt, Barry instructs, "Okay, don't move."

"If you have a water gun, I will kill you, Barry Allen."

With a laugh, Barry walks backwards, eyes on Iris, heart in his throat. "No trust, huh?"

"One false move," she calls back, a slight smile teasing the corners of her lips. "How long do I have to wait?" She makes a show of checking her wrist, unseen behind the blindfold, and adds, "I don't have all night, you know. A very handsome date promised dessert."

"He will make good on that promise," Barry vows solemnly. Coming to a halt, he clears his throat and reaches up to tug at his tie, steeling himself for a moment. He knows enough about her wants to know that everything _should_ be perfect, but he can still feel the butterflies in his stomach.

Playfully lowering herself to a crouch, Iris warns, "I know Jujutsu."

Barry laughs, eyes warm. "Okay," he says, in a voice that is only a little soft from nerves, "you can take off the blindfold."

Straightening cautiously, Iris reaches up to unravel the blindfold, witty retort silenced as she takes in the scene. Lanterns line a makeshift aisle in the grass, leading to Barry standing under the sweeping arms of a willow tree. The shadows of big rolling hills line the violet horizon, present but not crowding. She turns in a slow circle, searching for words, before looking at Barry with the kind of mystification reserved for fireflies and cathedrals. "Oh," is all she says.

He beams and tucks his hands behind his back, rocking on his feet once. Without further prompting, Iris marches slowly down the aisle, each footstep measured, her gaze fixed on his. He looks nice in a tux – it's one of his father's suits, tailored to fit him better with his narrower shoulders – but she _glows_ in the orange light, brilliant silver gown complementing her figure generously.

When she is near enough, he extends a hand to her. She takes it and lets him draw her closer. Accompanied by their quiet breath, the only sound is the quiet purring of cicadas. A waxing moon highlights the warmth in Barry's eyes as he takes both of her hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze.

"I want the world for you," he begins softly. "I want you to be happy. I want you to live the very best life possible, and I … I am _so lucky_ to share that life with you. I'm lucky that you love me. Love is complicated and uncertain and we both know that it can be a challenge, but it is a challenge that I love to embrace. It is a challenge I look forward to every morning as we build this life together, and it is a joy to fall asleep beside you and know that I _am_ living my best life."

Rocking them from side to side, _swaying_ , he tells her, "I'm so happy that in this world full of a hundred billion galaxies, our stars aligned, and we got to be here at the same time. And I—" swallowing, he takes a breath and continues, "I'm glad adversity made our relationship so much stronger. We made something beautiful together. You've always been there for me, and I've wanted to be the same for you for so long I can't remember what it was like not to love you."

She squeezes his hand, and he finds the strength, the humor to remark, "I remember being nine years old and thinking you were the most amazing person I'd ever met, and I can now say confidently, twenty years later, that I was right." Slowing to stillness, he kneels in the grass, looking up at her with the stars in his eyes and the world above him, and entreats, "I want to love you like you are the most amazing person that will ever live, because to me, you are. I will never meet another Iris Ann, and I hope to be your husband for the rest of our days. So." Smiling, conscious of the matching rings already on their fingers, he asks, "Iris Ann West. My darling wife. Will you be mine?"

She looks ready to cry, but there is a smile on her face, and she squeezes his hand and says in a thick voice, "Here I thought you were bringing a water gun."

A laugh bubbles out of his chest, warm and happy, and he feels a tear on his own cheek as she draws him to his feet. Framing his face deliberately with her hands, she pulls him into a kiss. "I'm already yours," she tells him, speaking against the soft stubble on his cheek, a hint of tomorrow's vices still soft in today's twilight hours. "You'll always be mine." She kisses brings his hand up and kisses the knuckle, the ring never more prominent on his finger as she declares, "Forever and always, Barry Allen." Leaning up on tiptoe, with the regality of a princess, she kisses his forehead. "You're my favorite person, too."

Resting his chin on her shoulder, he sways with her under the summer night-sky, light on his feet, her hand curled around the nape of his neck.

Humming to herself, Iris doesn't need words to convey the truth lounging comfortably between them.

 _All I wanna do, is come running home to you._

 _Come running home to you._

 _And all my life I promise to._

 _Keep running home to you._

 _Keep running home to you._

"Oh, you gave me no other choice, but to love you," he croons at the appropriate interlude, and she kisses his cheek again, and then his lips, and then the cicadas are the only sound to be found.

It's beautiful. It's somehow still beautiful even when they are lounging in lounge wear eating a decadent cheesecake from a take-home box on the bed, because they'd rather be close than austere.

Companionship, Barry thinks, allowing Iris to steal the fork back and leisurely tucking his arm around her shoulders, is a beautiful thing.


End file.
